Shades of Macbeth
The last days had been busy as the crew drilled. The crew complained as you might expect, but Rebecca remembered and agreed with the words of the Jewish Historian Flavius Josephus regarding their opponent back then, the Roman Empire, 'Their drills are bloodless battles, and their battles bloody drills'. She had gotten off light on the last cruise, but no one with a military career depended on luck.
"That wasn't too bad." She purred as the battle simulation ended. "Mr. Cathcart, please report to the bridge." She leaned back, waiting patiently. The hatch opened, and Cathcart, looking uncomfortable in a skin suit carrying his helmet came in. "Mr. Cathcart, what happened down there? You were supposed to simulate dropping a twenty-five pod salvo."
"My men aren't used to maneuvering in zero Gee and vacuum." He replied. "And some of them almost went Dutchman on us when one of the men with a tractor gun accidentally activated it for real. Besides, the Republic Pods are much larger than ours; they only stack twenty high."
"I know your department was hard hit when we got home, something like 75% of them. But you have that core of people who did remain."
"But they are violating too many safety rules! Not anchoring down when shifting cargo, using only three tractor guns instead of the four recommended-"
"I know you weren't on our last cruise, Mr. Cathcart. But we tested the concept while transferring pods at the stations before our actual battle, and it worked. It worked well enough that we blew an SD to hell using it. I want your people to start over. This time without skin suits and with the cargo hold closed. But you will shift the pods in the hold when you do. Until your men can do this, on time and on command, your department is a waste of space on a warship in battle."
"Yes, captain." He answered. But he was furious. He nodded, then left.
"You came down pretty hard on him, skipper." Hughes commented leaning on the arm of the command chair.
Rebecca shrugged helplessly. "I can't help it, Number One. The Third Reformation Anabaptist church spent the better part of 500 years trying to get the Second Reformation Catholics declared a cult so they could be taxed, or a terrorist organization with over two millennia of atrocities to their credit."
"That was over a millennia ago skipper. And in what is now the League, not out here."
"Well we tend to hold a grudge." Rebecca replied defensively. "His religion just rubs me the wrong way, and his holier than thou bullshit about Dollaryde just pissed me off."
"Maybe I should deal with him directly from now on then."
"If you would."
"Captain, we have a Republican collier coming toward us from the inner system. Squawking RHNS Manhattan." Zachary reported.
"Have they signaled us?"
"Not yet-"
"Signal from RHNS Manhattan via FTLcom." Lieutenant Sayoko Gill reported, half turning from her station. "They are delivering the missiles for the other two merchant cruisers."
"Who are not yet here. Signal them to assume station astern to our starboard side."
"Yes, ma'am." She started to turn back, then turned toward her captain again. "HMS Fairy Lights calling our number, also FTL. Inbound from the Junction with the rest of the squadron."
"Make sure she knows where we are, lieutenant."
"Yes, ma'am."
Rebecca brought up the tactical plot. A light minute away, she could see six ships closing on her own from the Junction, located at about 2 o'clock. Another blip at approximately 6 o'clock had the transponder of the Republican ship.
She mentally worked it out. About thirty minutes before any of them came close enough to actually see. "Number One, call down to Cathcart's office. Ask Ensign Kyle to report to my office."
"Yes, skipper."
"I'll be back before they get here. You have the conn."
"Yes, ma'am."
Rebecca reached her office in plenty of time. When the sentry announced the young officer, Rebecca let him in. He reminded her of Gaelin. He was the same type of person; solidly built, with the same confident air she had seen in her old friend.
"Ensign Kyle, reporting as ordered." He snapped a salute.
"Stand easy, Mr. Kyle. Actually it was your furry minion I wanted to talk to."
"Daedalus?" The young man looked up at the cat who looked back.
Before Rebecca could explain, Irene leaped up on her desk. The cat sat, tail around her paws, and looked up, meowing plaintively. The treecat jumped, landing on the desk. Then crouched down so he was nose to nose with the cat.
"Ah, I see." The young man grinned. "Daedalus had a chance to hear the memory song of Seeks Answers about Cat Like Joker and her mindblind kitten Always Wants Attention."
"Seeks Answers?"
"The name of Commander Gaelin's treecat in their language."
So I'm the latest gossip subject for the treecats?"
"Not hardly, captain. How much do you know about how the treecats communicate?"
"As much as the average woman on the street, meaning little or nothing."
"Well a few years ago, the xenolinguist Adelina Arif was asked by Steadholder Harrington-Alexander to find a way to communicate with the treecats using sign language."
"I was that far along already." Rebecca replied with the sign language for 'ha, ha, very funny'. "Holmes taught me some." Daedalus gave that gap mouth yawn she recognized as a treecat laugh. The cat started to signal, but stopped when she raised a hand. "Please, Daedalus. That is the extent of what I know." The cat snorted derisively. "Laugh it up, fuzzball." Again a treecat laugh.
"I was going to ask Daedalus if he would spend time with Irene." She motioned toward the cat who was now crooning to the larger treecat. The cat looked to his human, and began signaling.
"He would enjoy that." He cocked his head. "He says, the mindglow of a child is a delight to them."
"Irene is almost a T year old."
"But she is still like a child to him." Kyle commented. "domestic cats are known to them, but not on a long term basis until now."
"Ah." Rebecca motioned the young man closer. "I bought a treecat module, one of the most modern made, but she thinks I am punishing her when I put her in it. I ask, when we go into combat, if Daedalus can be inside with her if he does not mind."
The young man blinked back tears. "I was worried about his safety; I could only afford to buy a standard module. Thank you."
"No matter, Mr. Kyle. I will let the sentry know that Daedalus can access my quarters at any time. Thank you, Daedalus."
The cat signaled. "It is an honor to accompany such a young one." Kyle translated.
"We're expecting company, so I suggest you get back to work."
"Yes, Captain." He gathered up his cat, and departed.
She stood, Irene stood on her hind legs, snagging Rebecca's tunic. She rubbed the cat's ears. "Always Wants Attention, eh? Boy Holmes had you pegged."
She was back on the bridge a few moments later. The ships were decellerating, now only advancing at about ten KPS. There were two ships the same mass as Witch Maiden, Fairy Lights and Canarvon Castle, and four that were around 3.5 megatons. And the 1 megaton battlecruiser sized collier. The names were familiar, and she suddenly realized why as they slowed to a stop. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." She whispered with a grin. Suddenly the transponders shut down then came back up. Witch Queen and Witch Bride now sat there.
"Saya, call the witches and Manhattan, split screen."
Behind her Gill looked up in surprise. "Yes ma'am."
The main screen lit up with three faces, two she recognized. "Connor, Miriam, good to see you again." She looked at the last. "I am Captain Duvalier. You are?"
"Robespierre." He replied. "Patrice Robespierre." He was stiff. One of those Manticore haters still.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, captain Robespierre. Our ships have 96 hours before we deploy. Can you crossload the ordinance in that time?"
He snorted in derision. "You Manties may have better technology, but we can deal with that minor problem without your assistance. I estimate seven hours to load both."
"Ah good. Before we depart, I wanted to have a little competition." She keyed the list Le Clerc had delivered. "The file I am sending is a list of spectator sports that can be performed on ship, that I know for sure we; that is the Republican contingent aboard and my own crew have sufficient members to play. I am asking all three of your ships to participate."
"What about the CLACs?" Connor McCoy asked. He was a short man from Manticore, standing only about 1.65 meters. A class behind her, he had just made captain of the list.
"I'll check with them. Please send the sports you can participate in."
"And if we refuse to play your little game, Captain Duvalier?" Robespierre asked.
"Captain, this is to help our crews work together. There have been too many years of war between us for anyone to merely agree that we should like each other now. I felt that a competiton that has our people participating out of pride would bind our crew together, since there are almost 100 people from your own nation are aboard my ship, we should start that learning process early.
"You can refuse to participate if you wish; after all you are not making this deployment with us. But even if you do not, please send some of your people to join the spectators anyway. We will be clearing a section of our Number 2 cargo bay for the events as soon as I have a list. That means we can have 400 spectators, and will film it in HD for those crews that cannot see it in person. That is fifty people from each ship."
"I will take it under advisement. Robespierre clear." His thrusters kicked in as he moved his ship toward the waiting merchant cruisers.
"I have a feeling he doesn't like us." Miriam Schaefer commented. Almost two meters tall, she was a Sphinxian who had made list about a month after Rebecca.
"We all understand why, Miriam. When you end a twenty year old shooting war, you can't expect to have everyone just kiss and make up. Maybe this idea will work. It's a lot less apocalyptic than an actual battle would be."
The Games
As abrasive as Robespierre was, his crew was well trained. Parking his ship between the two merchant cruisers with less than a ten kilometers separation, the cargo holds on both sides of his ship opened, and crossloading began. Based on a prewar design for a minelayer, the ship could deploy her entire load rapidly on the fly. She could as readily 'sweep' her own loadout back into those holds if necessary. Similar ships had been used both at 1st Hancock and at Chantilly where they had thickened the defenses of the embattled units. The larger Republican pods caused the ships receiving them to juggle the load. While a thousand of the standard pods of the Alliance would fill those holds, they could only accomodate 800 of these larger ones.
Finally the sports that could be used came back. Volleyball, boxing, greco-roman wrestling, fencing, the Coup, and kendo. Some others, Chess and Shogi were suggested, but shot down. Honestly, if you were not an aficionado or playing yourself, watching either was like watching paint dry. However there weren't enough boxers to field more than three actual bouts, so it was struck from the list. Robespierre came back with the Coup, and wrestling.
One sport suggested was simulated LAC combat. After all five of the ships did carry LACs, though of two disparate designs. Finally it was decided that only the Ferrets could participate, and that the Sidemore ships would have their missiles stepped down to what a Ferret normally carried. By the same token, the Ferret Bs were limited to the performance of the original. Since there were only four Ferrets, each of the four Sidemore units were allowed only four participants.
Surprisingly, Robespierre did want to offer a team for that last as well. He had two officers that had begun in LACs. That meant they juggled the teams again, limiting them to only two craft, with the Republican LAC officers to use two of the Sidemore LACs.
"Mr. Quintain, call the LAC commanders together for a briefing on the contest, please." Huggins ordered as she entered Prifly.
"Shall I call the Warrants as well, ma'am?"
Huggins stopped, her head tracking like one of the ship's grazers to lock on his face. "Oh by all means, just call the 'real' officers." She said sarcastically.
Quintain flinched under her gaze. "I just thought-"
"No, Mr. Quintain. You did not think. I am so sure we officers are so much wiser than the warrants and middie. Because we have gone through Saganami Island we have so much more experience than they do." Her tone could have stripped the paint off the bulkheads. "Let me remind you that the youngest of our warrants has a minimum of seven years more service time than any of us; Two of them have more hours in LACs than either of us.
"You obviously didn't pay attention to the history of Aircraft operations during Old Earth's second world war. Most of the more efficient pilots of that era from everywhere but the old United States were enlisted men. The top 'aces' of that war for two nations, Japan and the Old Soviet Union were enlisted men.
"So by all means, leave our warrants and our middie out of it. They're obviously too stupid to offer anything of value." She snorted. "Call all of our commanders, lieutenant." She stalked on without another word. She knew she had handled it badly, but Quintain was an elitist prick. If something was assigned to prifly, such as a pinnace or shuttle flight, he automatically assigned a lieutenant having the warrants or Middie as copilot. If he was on prifly rotation none of the juniors was getting any time in the left seat.
She had to think of a way to snap him back without berating him, but the man just made it so much more satisfying to snarl at him. Higgins walked into the briefing room bringing up the viewscreen. The LAC commanders came, taking their seats. In deference to the senior pilots, the Sidemore contingent took the last row of seats. Another of Quintain's 'improvements'.
"All right ladies and gentlemen, the specs on the competition. First, only Ferrets are going to participate. So the rest of you can just kibbitz."
"We'll kick their ass." Devon Carstairs, commander of HMSLAC Wolverine said with a grin. He did a high five with Edward Mikashima, commander of HMSLAC Weasel.
"Bet they use the seniors on this one." Warrant 2, Sam Sloan commanding RSNLAC Otter commented sotto voce. Stacey nodded.
"Actually I was going to have a drawing." Huggins commented, catching Sloan unaware. He blushed as the some of the others laughed. "Except for the two Republican pilots, we're the only ship with people who have been in combat. It wouldn't be fair to merely toss our most experienced pilots into the mix just because they are experienced." She took off her beret, and went to the Ferret pilots. "Put something identifiable in my hat." Both of the Sidemore commanders put their rank insignia in; after all the Gold bar with a red center band of Stacey, and the silver bar with a blue band would be easily identifiable.
Carstairs took his bar, leaving the magnetic clips on the back of the insignia on, while Mikashima put his in without them. Huggins walked back up to the front, setting her hat on the podium. She looked at them, then dipped her hand in. She intentionally waited until she touched a bad, then picked it up holding it by the edges. "Mr. Mikashima." Her hand dipped in again, then came out. "Miss Kramer."
"Oh we're so hosed." Someone said.
"We have to kick the kids out of the nest sooner or later." Huggins chided.
"But Skipper, she has less than a week in type. Maybe twenty hours all told." Quintain protested. "She doesn't have enough experience to compete."
"Really." Huggins replied flatly.
"Both of our senior Ferret pilots have almost a year in type. Hell, skipper, both you and I have more time in a Ferret than she does."
"And your point?"
"If you're going to draw, have it be the four with experience, not some junior officer we had dumped on us."
Huggins walked around the podium, hands clasped behind her back. "I notice you left out our warrant officer. Again."
"Well Sloan probably has more experience than she does in type-"
"Mr. Sloan, how much time do you have in the Sidemore version of the Cimeterre?"
"The word means Scimitar in French, skipper. We call them Sabers because of that." Sloan replied. "Six years, eight months. About 6200 hours all told, including 4000 operational." He paused. "In Ferrets, about 90 hours."
"So our warrant has more time than everyone except for the other Warrants combined, Mr. Quintain. Now why did you leave him out of our little raffle?"
"I know he may have more time in one of the Republic type, but in a Ferret-"
"Shut up." He fell silent as she looked at him cooly. "Unless she feels she cannot compete, Miss Kramer is our number two. Do you have any further problems with my decision?"
"No, skipper."
"Then Mr. Mikashima, Miss Kramer good luck." She strode down the aisle in silence. She went into her office. Back at home in Harrington Steading, when she felt this frustrated, she would go as far from people as she could and scream. Or into her bunk room and cover her face with a pillow to scream. Here she shared a cabin with two others. Thanks to the new pilots, she had enough women to share that space with, but a commanding officer, even of an LAC squadron couldn't vent her frustrations in front of her juniors; it just wasn't done.
"Skipper?" She spun. She hadn't closed the door, and because of that, her policy had been anyone who passed by could just ask permission to enter. Stacey stood there as if she expected to be berated too.
She sighed, taking her chair. "Something I can help you with, Stace?"
She entered the office hesitantly. "I may not like the way he said it, but Lieutenant Quintain is right about my experience. I don't even have the twenty hours he granted me. I barely have eighteen."
"Close the door and sit down." Stacey did as she was told. "You think you can't handle it, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You see this ribbon?" She tapped the Grayson Shield. The girl looked up, and nodded. "Well I was assigned to GSNS Montrose right out of flight school. I had less than 30 hours in a Ferret when we launched at the Battle of Manticore. I was one of the junior officers, not much further along than you are now. Everyone senior to me was killed, and I led two others to safety from that hell. I earned this medal in that battle." She looked at the girl. She already looked defeated. "Ignore Quintain. The only one who can decide if you can do it is you. Before you take that as permission to quit, think of this; I wasn't given the option to quit. I was to get through the enemy screen, inflicting as much damage as I could. That was the extent of our orders when we launched. I felt just as competent as you do right now. I survived, and killed an enemy battlecruiser as we blew through them.
"The competition is in three stages; a single squadron attack on a collier, the second a strike with the remaining ships of that squadron on a heavy cruiser, the third hasn't been determined as yet. If you don't screw up too badly in the first, come and talk to me again if you want to just quit."
"But that would mean..."
"Yeah, you'll be disqualified. But you can run the same sims everyone else does before it begins. After all, we have almost 40 hours before the competition begins. If you can't handle it, be sure that the other two Ferret commanders will be already practicing. Knowing Quintain, I'm sure he'll be using his bird to study it too. Come back to me before the competition starts if you want to be replaced."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Damn it!" Stacey growled. She had looked at the two loaded scenarios, and run them both. The first was a spoiling attack on a an unescorted Solarian collier orbiting a planet awaiting the arrival of her squadron. Class wasn't determined, but she had been told that while the same size as Witch Maiden, she did not have pod launch capability. The total time alloted for the exercise was ten hours, to allow for any permutation of planning the assault. At the end of that time, the player would be eliminated from the competition.
The second would be a picket line, a heavy cruiser of the Gladiator Class on patrol by herself. She would have to either slip past if possible, or engage and destroy it. But the exercises were progressive; she would 'command' twelve birds for exercise one. Any that survived that engagement would be available for the second. Again ten hours was alloted.
Since there would be a dozen LACs to command, a commander could literally 'die' and still be there; if LAC A, the command LAC were destroyed, the commander would now be on LAC B until they were finally in command of LAC L, the last bird. This was because a squadron commander would have told his subordinates what to do, and they would continue the mission until the next senior below them decided to give it up. But as long as they completed their missions, if only one survived, they would go on to the third problem.
"Well, Skip?" Cartier asked. Stacey looked up from the pad.
"I think we're hosed, Boats." Stacey admitted. "Crew aboard?"
"Have been since we got the nod."
She stood, and walked toward the LAC bay, looking it over again. "We have to think of a hard and dirty way to take the collier. While we could swarm it under, we'd lose maybe half of the squadron taking her down, but that would leave only six or seven to take down the cruiser. And that would mean we'd lose the same against the cruiser. Maybe we could do it twice, but we'd be too short to guarantee that."
They walked up the ramp side by side toward the bridge of the little craft. "Well we do still have about eight hours left to practice." Cartier commented. "Unless you give it up."
Stacey stopped short of the bridge, looking at her helmsman. "So you guys think I've already lost too?"
"No, ma'am." Cartier sighed. "Can I speak just woman to woman, skip?"
"Please do."
"You've got good instincts. The Skipper has tossed things at you hot and heavy, a lot harder than they did at the school from what our warrants have told me. You might get flustered, you might jump the wrong way, but they think you're doing well considering. Maybe this is a big jump, but they didn't go into simulator combat until the second month. She could have dropped you from the competition without any complaints from the Captain if she felt you couldn't handle it."
"But I've only been in command for four days, Boats!" Stacey wanted to rip out her hair. "I'm not sure if I can do this?"
Cartier watched her, then set an almost motherly hand on her shoulder. "You have to get out of the nest eventually. And we do know what she's been doing up to now. Just go with the flow."
"Easy for you to say. You're not making the decisions!"
"It's not the end of the world if we lose this time."
"It might be for me." Stacey looked down. "If I screw the pooch here I may never get an LAC command slot again. I wanted to see if the tactics I mentioned in my thesis would work. And I wanted to be one of those that tried them against an enemy."
"Then do it here."
She looked back up. "I could withdraw-"
"Which will definitely kill any future LAC command slot." Cartier cut her off. "Not because they might not let you try again. But because the very first time you had the opportunity you ran. And running gets to be a habit.
"You might get bumped from the command here because you still lack experience, but the fact that you're trying as hard as you can means something."
"Fine." She walked on into the bridge. "Set simulator to exercise one, and prepare to depart."
"Exercise one prepped." Missile tech 1st Swindon replied.
Had they been listening? Stacey wondered. It's not like we were keeping our voices down. Do they wish they had a better commander than me? Her mind ran through the problem, from launch to attack. They'll see the CLAC drop us, that's a given. So they'll know where we started from, and set their recon shell accordingly...
"Give me a sec, people." She tapped the communications stud. "Skipper?"
A moment later, Huggins replied. She asked just one question. Then she gave a feral grin. Either I'll be considered an innovator, or a total loon.
Game day
While everyone was shuttling over for the competiton, The LAC component had started almost twelve hours earlier. Each of the Witches was handling two of them, with the bridge crew and CIC each acting as OpFor on the problem. The parameters were simple and both sides knew them; the CLAC knew where the planet the target was orbiting was, so they could drop out of hyper and launch the squadron tasked without approaching. They would be close enough that the collier would see the arrival of the CLAC, and could lay out a recon shell accordingly. All but one had been normal. But that one...
"She's sneakier than I imagined." Rebecca commented. She had assured that Kramer's attempt was assigned to her primarily because of the reports Huggins had been giving her. They had rammed the course information and data down hard on the girl; in fact after the second day they had cut out any work other than LAC related training out of her schedule just to make sure she got some sleep. Her CLAC had dropped in, and Zachary had been deploying the recon shell when it hypered back out.
She had checked the timing, and it had waited almost exactly as long as it would have taken to recycle her hyper generator. A few minutes later, it had come back in about 20 degrees further along the limit, but only stayed for a recycle, and did so at nine different locations. Each was far enough apart that a recon shell for one would ignore glaring holes from the others.
Her first launch had been spread from to cover until finally she had seven shells launched, and for the first time since she had deployed, had literally run out of recon drones. Oh she had all of the possilbe approaches covered, but the shell was very thin.
"Maybe not." Zachary reported. "We have a hit." He brought it on screen. A faint reading from what would probably be an LAC. Then it became three, then finally all of them, approaching from the fourth locus. "Approaching under low powered wedge. Distance, 6.5 million kilometers. Rate of advance, 300Gs, 18,000 kilometers per second." He tapped the controls. "Moving closest drones."
"If she's coming from there, we have about a minute." Rebecca considered. "Still out of decent radar range."
"Ma'am, it's firming up." He stiffened. "It's three LACs towing decoys!"
She considered. "Go active radar, full sweep!"
The pulse went out, and she stiffened. Nine LACs running in two lines, as clear as a bell, 400,000 kilometers away with her ship between their courses! "All weapons systems on automatic!" The room shuddered, then the screens went blank. "Report!"
"They waited until they caught our pulse. They must have fired the lasers including their point defense the instant they did." Zachary replied. He brought up the exercise in Admin mode, then chuckled. "Check it out, Skipper."
In admin mode, which Rebecca had locked out before this, it showed the CLAC dropping in, and clearly on her screen, showed nine LACs dropping free and accelerating under low powered wedges. Unlike the Alliance, the Republican LACs had to limit their advance to only 400Gs instead of the 500 An Alliance LAC could pull under stealth. But they could still close to six million kilometers undetected even by Alliance sensors. But the strike force had cut their wedges ten million kilometers away, still over six million outside the shell she had deployed.
By the time the shell had passed her, they had been merely lumps of ceramic and metal. Her own recons drones had spotted them on the closer drones; about a million kilometers distant, but both Sam and Abbie had dismissed them as meteors. After all, at that range, thanks to the radar absorbent material built into them, they had read as something massing around 5,000 tons, a lot less than an LAC. Then, still under full stealth without wedges, they had run in on her totally silent. Until they had detected the second element. By then they were already within 600,000 kilometers. When the pulse hit them, they had fired a full load, fifteen PD clusters and the two lasers the LACs carried in each broadside, all more powerful than a Pinnace's mount.
They had ripped down the side of her ship, shattering both impeller rooms, her hyper generator, then Fusion one, which had exploded, blowing her to hell.
"Oh that was choice." Rebecca said with a smile. She suckered me good." She tapped the com panel. "Give me Shrew."
"Shrew reporting."
"Very well done, Stace."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Ready for round two?"
"Bring it." Behind the girl she could hear her crew cheering as she cut the connection.
A/N If you've been reading the reviews, you will notice that the last reviewer; a guest, brought up something I hoped you'd all notice, the interaction between Krueger and Dollaryde. First, while what he appears to be doing is in violation of Manticoran regs, it is and it isn't. It is because he is being disparaging, however as someone who served in the US military (US Coast Guard) I do know that such things happen all the time, and unless the person protests, or it is witnessed by another, nothing is done.
It is not because, like the definition of the term 'child abuse' from the 16th century, abuse is by the definition of that observer. So if an officer sees another officer or senior noncom witnesses this, he would use his own perception to determine whether this is a violation.
As to the word Schwulie (And the guest did what I thought, he looked it up) it is insulting, and is slang derived from another word which gender specific that he would have found if I had used it instead. This is to set up a more serious confrontation with someone else later.
The reason I did not reply directly to that guest is because the site doesn't give you that option.
So back to writing...